


Split

by lonerofthepack



Series: Taken 'verse [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blood, Blood Loss, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Other, Trail of Blood, Whumptober 2020, implied gang rape, internal bleeding, internal injury, they look so pretty when they bleed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26925805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonerofthepack/pseuds/lonerofthepack
Summary: But he thinks perhaps he ought to be a little more afraid of what doesn't exactly hurt yet, where he just feels…cold and sick.He thinks perhaps he should be quite frightened indeed. His legs are shaking. Actually, he is shaking, full stop, but his legs feel especially unsteady.He's a bit surprised. If he'd so little needed as a hostage that they can risk this sort of abuse— why… why take him at all? Why not just kill him outright, leave his body in a shallow grave and have done with it?Part of the Taken 'verse
Series: Taken 'verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951963
Kudos: 12
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Split

**Author's Note:**

> They Look So Pretty When They Bleed: Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood
> 
> Er. Please mind the tags. Percy just continues to suffer and Grindelwald remains...very much himself. Which is presumably why you're here, but still. 
> 
> A note briefly about chronological continuity, since this series happens out of order:  
> 1\. as of yet untitled  
> 2\. Taken  
> 3\. Caught  
> 4\. as of yet untitled  
> 5\. Split (this fic)  
> 6-?  
> ?. Sacrifice  
> ?-?  
> ?. Caged  
> ?
> 
> Yep.

He's an auror, and no stranger to blood. He's not even particularly a stranger to pain— certainly not in the last few days, but he hadn't been even prior to…

But he can't recall ever feeling quite so cold, and he's fairly certain he's leaving a mess, bloodied footprints from the crawl of viscous slick down his legs and a wobbling scatter of drops where he's stumbled. Stumbling— he's still— 

Even body-warm, petroleum jelly doesn't go so slick that it'll drip like that. And there hadn’t been that much lubricant to begin with. Just enough that the only one suffering for the burn of haste had been him, panting through his teeth to keep from screaming.

Maybe there’s enough of the other, to roll down his thigh, but he’s reasonably sure Grindelwald had growled something to the contrary, somewhere over the pound of his heartbeat in his ears--territorial enough that  _ fucking him _ was all well and good to punish him for attempting to escape, but  _ coming in _ him was right out. The sadistic son of a jarvey. 

There's a smear of it, of blood, on his hands, too--his nails aren't long and he keeps them blunt, but he's got bloodied imprints on on his palms and scratches all the same where he'd fought the ropes. His wrists are a mess. 

His back— no, he can't quite think of his back. He's sure it’s bloodied as well, but that's deeply incidental besides the throbbing ache. He can still feel the drag of fingernails over welts, like dragging a spoon over a too-ripe pear, tearing away skin left thin and swollen with...

The smell is.

He wonders how he would know, if something inside him has actually failed to withstand…

He hurts. A— a lot--not so bad as the collar, but it isn’t fading like the collar or Cruciatus does. So he hurts, lingeringly. In places that frighten him. 

But he thinks perhaps he ought to be a little more afraid of what doesn't exactly hurt yet, where he just feels…cold and sick.

He thinks perhaps he should be quite frightened indeed. His legs are shaking. Actually,  _ he _ is shaking, full stop, but his legs feel especially unsteady. 

He's a bit surprised. If he'd so little needed as a hostage that they can risk this sort of abuse— why… why take him at all? Why not just kill him outright, leave his body in a shallow grave and have done with it?

He spooks at a hand on his neck, jolts into the wall he'd been leaning on— yelps, and then he moans, as pain flares in that cold spot, neither sharp nor burning but an ache. 

Like pressure. Pressure growing too fast, in places there should be none.

He’s—

He’s dizzy. And the smell is just— 

“Red suits you, my dear, but let’s not belabour the point, hmm?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks folks


End file.
